


Red is the Greenest Colour

by radiations



Category: Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 07:10:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6319627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radiations/pseuds/radiations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wally gets hurt and Bruce kind of loses his shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red is the Greenest Colour

**Author's Note:**

> I really like hurt/comfort.

There’s panic flooding through his veins and Bruce knows that it’s in vain that he’s repeating into his comm, “Flash, where are you?” 

Diana is flying over the the top of the mess that was a building a mere few moments ago and John is using his ring to fling cement and bricks out of the way while J’onn hovered over the top, calling out with his mind. 

Clark stood next to Bruce, using his vision to scan the scene for some sign of human life and Bruce, all Bruce could do was sift through pipes and tiles in an agonizing slow pace, heart pounding in his ears louder than he’d have liked. His throat was raw from calling out, and his eyes were burning - probably from all the dust. 

Wally had been too late to exit the building and Bruce’s bleeding hands still weren’t enough for the older man to comprehend that the redhead had been too _late_. 

“I found something,” Clark says, just as J’onn calls out,

“I hear him.” 

The martian disappears amongst the rubble and Clark disappears from Bruce’s side, shooting into a mess in the centre. Bruce is behind them all, hating that he had no powers for what felt like the first time in his life, climbing over rubble as John starts piling what’s left of the building to a side, clearing out the area the martian had gone into.

Diane is lifting three times the amount that Bruce is tossing to a side and all Bruce can think is, “What if he’s dying? What if he’s dying?” 

His hands are shaking and he’s seemed to have lost all composure, and is almost glad that everyone’s too caught up in finding the speedster to see him unravelling with worry.

There’s what seems like a mini explosion as the martian and Clark both shoot out from the centre, and Bruce feels his body go numb at the sight of Wally, carefully cradled in Clark’s arms, suit tattered and the red of the fabric replaced with the red of Wally’s blood. Bruce kind of wants to laugh at all the red but he’s too busy trying to get to Clark, who’s still holding the other and Diana says something to Bruce and John says something about too much blood and all the voices melt together and Bruce just wants to know if Wally has a pulse. 

Then Clark is gone, with Wally, and Bruce is standing there, panic flooding once more at the fact that he could no longer see the younger man. 

“They’re taking him to Med, want a ride?” John asks, not really asking and Bruce doesn’t really respond and then green light is lifting him and Bruce can’t even muster his usual pride, his ego that often let him refuse to be carried because all he can think of is all the red and how much he’s pretty sure he hates that color. 

* * *

Everyone else has left and Bruce hasn’t moved a muscle, seated in the chair and staring at the unmoving speedster, wrapped up and lying in the bed. J’onn had done what he could and then informed them all that Wally would be fine, and Clark and stressed to Bruce that the only concern was his bones regenerating too quickly in the wrong way and even then, John had laughed and said it was fine, they’d just have to break him again and through it all, Bruce hadn’t bothered to respond. 

Clark had squeezed his shoulder, as though he understood, and Diana was the last one to leave. She’d gazed at him with feeling that he couldn’t comprehend, didn’t think he could feel, because he felt nothing now. Bruce had exhausted himself of feeling. 

He’d felt too much. Too much in the span of such a short time and he’s pretty sure that’s not how feelings worked, but he was exhausted. At some point, J’onn had wrapped his fingers up in bandages and handed him some painkillers that lay untouched next to him on the side desk. 

Everyone seemed relieved, but Bruce couldn’t shake this feeling - this feeling that Wally was gone. Gone forever, gone, and because he’d been too late. He’s playing the pronoun game in his head, wondering who’d been too late. 

Him, or the speedster? What more could he have possibly done?    

His eyes are burning again and Bruce can’t blame it on the dust, but he does anyway. 

There’s not as much red now, except for the tufts of hair sneaking through the bandages around the speedster’s head and Bruce thinks he hates the color white more than the color red. 

He’s reminded of all the blood, pouring and bleeding and caked onto the younger male, and is torn between his hatred for both red and white. Wants to set the Canadian flag on fire, and wants to laugh. 

He runs a hand over his face, and then tugs off his cowl, letting it drop to the floor and then dropping his face into his hands. 

He knows, he really does, that he’s overreacting, that they are all more than he is, that Wally can make it and will make it and if it had been him, him under that building, then he wouldn’t have. 

He’s aware and it should console him, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t because he’d rather it have been him, than any of the rest of them.

“…B-Bats?” Bruce shoots up, eyes wide and still wet and almost chokes on his relief as green eyes gaze at him, confused and glazed. 

“Flash,” Bruce breathes, and thinks he’s going numb again, can’t quite feel his toes. 

“Dude, what..” Wally’s trying to shift, groaning and then hissing. “What the hell, ow! Did I break all my ribs?” He’s asking and Bruce can barely understand the words. “What the hell, ow! I look like a zombie, ugh ow.” 

And Bruce is keenly aware that Wally is fine, more than fine, that his regeneration was probably almost complete, but he can’t seem to articulate it. Can’t seem to articulate anything. 

“Bats…you okay?” Wally asks after a moment and Bruce wants to laugh, wants to tell the kid that he should be the one asking that, but all he does is drop his face back into his hands, elbows resting on his knees and tries to breathe. 

There’s a moment of silence and Bruce’s breath catches briefly until he hears the other man breathing, harshly but steadily. 

“Bruce?” Wally says, softly, carefully, and Bruce raises his head, blinking and feeling the tears slip down his face. “What’s wrong, man?” 

Wally looks so distressed, green eyes wide and eyebrows creased and Bruce can’t think again as the other struggled to sit up, clumsily. 

Bruce is on his feet in no time, arms on Wally’s shoulders and gently easing the other back down, “Stay down,” he manages to say in a shaky voice that doesn’t sound like his own. 

“Aw Bats, were you that worried?” Wally tries to tease, but there’s too much concern and Wally’s half smile is dimmed by those green eyes. 

Bruce wants to say no, wants to walk away, wants to go back to his cave and shut himself down.

His arms are still on Wally’s shoulders, and he pulls away only to lightly graze the bandages circling Wally’s chest. 

“You broke 6 ribs,” he responds, and Wally grimaces. 

“Feels like it.” 

There’s another moment of silence and Bruce looks back up at Wally, meeting those green eyes steadily. 

“Don’t do that again. Next time I tell you to get out, you get out,” Bruce says, and it’s his voice, stern and annoyed and almost a growl because now he’s furious, furious with himself and furious with the other. 

Wally stares at Bruce, eyebrows twisting together uncertainly. 

“Okay.”

He holds that gaze and is aware that there are still hot tears on his cheeks and he’s still crying and his fingers are trembling and he pulls away from the bandages, praying to the universe as a whole to regain his composure. 

Wally shifts and Bruce feels his trembling fingers being clasped in bandaged ones, gently. 

“Hey, this wasn’t your fault,” Wally says, softly, no humour in his tone. “And I’m fine, man, I’m always gonna be. It’s alright,” he says, with a light squeeze and Bruce hates himself for being the one comforted when he wasn’t the one that needed it. 

He pulls away, nods stiffly and grasps his cowl, tugging it over his head. 

“I’ll get you something to drink,” he says, heading to the door while tugging his gloves over his fingers. 

“I’m hungry too!” Wally calls out, and Bruce only has to hear his tone of voice to know the redhead was grinning. 

He rolls his eyes, glancing at the other redhead and meeting those green eyes once more. There’s a moment of understanding between them and Bruce decides then, fingers tightening around the doorknob.

Green was a good color and he guessed he didn’t hate red all that much either. 


End file.
